


Our Relative Colors

by Afoolforatook



Series: Fairgame Week 2020 [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: All angst in this is strictly not 7x12 related, Canonical Past Character Death, Everyone just needs therapy okay, F/M, Grief, M/M, Soulmates AU, Teen + rating cause I don't really know where this will end up, fair game, fairgameweek2020, loss of partner, seeing color soulmate au, tw:alcoholism mention, tw:depression, tw:grief
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afoolforatook/pseuds/Afoolforatook
Summary: Looking your soulmate in the eyes is the first time you see color.Everyone loves the idea of finding your soulmate young, of growing up with them and becoming a fully realized adult because of them. Childhood friends, high school or college sweethearts, best friends to partners, it’s a beloved story. And it’s a great feeling.But no one talks about what to do when you lose them young too. When the person you’ve built your life around, the person who featured in every version of your future you ever pictured, is gone. No one talks about how you keep going when the person you’d become is shattered by grief. No one talks about how you’re supposed to be able to let yourself love again, how you’re supposed to expose someone new to the permanently sharp edges where you broke.Or - Qrow found the key to his Sight when he was young. And then lost her. He never imagined he'd find it again.But those teal eyes were the first thing to cut through his world of grey in so long. And while he knew that color, it was different than the teal Summer had given him. Who knew relative color applied to soulmates?No Grimm could ever be as dangerous as that overwhelming color.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, past Qrow Branwen/Summer Rose
Series: Fairgame Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666969
Comments: 49
Kudos: 92





	1. Prologue - The Ones the Stories Miss

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah... here's the prologue. Or at least prologue V1. Might change it as I work on the rest of the fic, feel like Clover (the tiny bit he's here) might not be fully IC... But I wanted to get this up for FGW to keep myself on track and motivated. 
> 
> But... yeah... have this obvious self-projection fic / excuse to vent about why soulmates is a touchy topic....  
> Because I can't help but wonder where I'd stand in soulmate aus - what happens for those who get the awesome experience of joining the 'my partner died' club?
> 
> There really will be fluff at some point. This is just a slightly bitter Farley talking. 
> 
> Also, Qrow/Summer here could be read as a platonic soulmate bond and not necessarily romantic, because that's just as significant and heartbreaking to lose, and the nature of their relationship is less important than the fact that they had it. I just tend to think of it as romantic because, again, I will project onto Qrow Branwen until I die. 
> 
> Also also, tried to be thorough with tags, but if i'm missing something you'd like me to add, or just noticed I missed please let me know, just send me a message at afoolforatook.tumblr.com
> 
> Also also, also (someone please stop me) if you laugh at my dumb color theory joke/refs I'll love you forever
> 
> Edit: So I made some changes to Clover's part at the bottom after putting in some new details about how soulmates work in a future chapter, that made it necessary to adjust somethings with Clover's reaction here. I did it really quickly just now and probably should have sat with it a bit more to make sure it was tight. But I just got really excited about adding this element in... so... hopefully I won't need to change anything else, and will be able to get the first chapter out in the next week or so. <3

He used to see it. 

Qrow Branwen used to see so much color. 

The color of the sky on Patch in the evening. The color of Tai’s vest. The color of Ozpin’s suit. The color of Raven’s eyes, and his. The color of Summer’s hair. 

That had been the first color that made him realize he had gotten his Sight. Looking in her eyes didn’t do it, as it did for most people. They were just as sparkling a silver grey as always. But then he saw her hair. 

Qrow had been astonished to hear that Summer had seen it first… a while back. She’d seen the vibrant rust of his eyes and, honestly, she wasn’t confused. She understood right away. Of course it was him. It was like a secret had been revealed and as soon as she’d seen it, she was amazed that she’d missed it for so long. Her telling Qrow that was one of those things that he kept stored away, as a rare, mind-boggling, comfort on particularly bad days.

Qrow _was_ confused at first though. He’d known Summer for years. He loved her. He’d known he’d loved her for years. He’d known he’d love her in whatever capacity she wanted from him. She was the kind of important to him that meant it didn’t matter what the nature of their relationship was, as long as they had one. She was his best friend, and that bond was never ‘less’ than a romantic one. But she couldn’t be his soulmate. If she was, why hadn’t this happened before? 

The thing was, Qrow and Summer weren’t the kind of match that most people pictured when thinking of soulmates. They weren’t two pieces, ready to fit together at the moment they met. They didn’t start out as soulmates. Because when they met, they were just kids. Their souls hadn’t settled, hadn’t grown enough, to have a match. People used to think that a soulmate was someone who completed you, but no. A soulmate was who fit you once you were completed. You did the completing yourself. (Completed doesn't mean perfect though, just formed.) And for Qrow and Summer, it just so happened that the person who helped them grow to that point, also fit together with their completed self. 

No. Summer Rose and Qrow Branwen were not born soulmates. They became that. Their souls weren’t made for each other, they chose each other. During their time at Beacon, as their souls began to settle, as they matured into the adults they would become, they built themselves around each other, without even realizing what they were doing. 

Summer had given Qrow color, and he had given it to her. But then…. 

Usually, when a person died - when it was actually ‘their time’ - their partner kept their Sight. Despite the common phrase of "giving" someone color, a soulmate didn't really give a person their Sight, but just unlocked it within them. They hadn’t been completed by someone else, but complemented. 

But, trauma could change that. Someone dying young, or before ‘their time’ had a different effect on their partner. It differed in intensity, in scope. Some people lost shades. Some lost an entire color or two. Some kept only one.

No one really understood why, though there _was_ a common theory: when the loss changed the person left behind so immensely that their completed soul was shattered, that was when their Sight was affected. It wasn’t that their loss was greater than those who didn’t lose Sight, it was just, different. Their Sight didn’t suffer because they lost their soulmate, but because in doing so, they lost a part of themselves. 

Qrow lost all of it. It was the cruelest last twist of the knife to him. He didn’t just lose her, or his Sight, or himself. His pain wasn’t just a loss, but a new kind of awareness. 

The grey of Sightlessness was no longer benign. Grey was silver. Grey was Summer’s eyes. And now, now that she was gone, it was all that he could see. The good, the bad, the poignant, the mundane. Her absence was in everything he saw. 

He’d learned to deal with it, to ignore the all encompassing bite of the knowledge that Summer Rose, the source of color in his life, wasn’t just gone on a mission. She wasn’t just never going to see him again. She was gone. She wouldn’t smile or laugh or feel the wind in her hair. What hurt most wasn’t that he had lost her, but that she had ended. A world without her existence. A world where her daughters knew her more from stories than from experience. That was irreconcilable. So he pushed it away. 

The alcohol helped. It took the sharpness off all of that incessantly mocking grey. It dulled the broken edges within himself too. 

And the isolation helped as well. 

It hurt. It hurt so much. But it was necessary. He couldn’t put his family in any more danger. And he couldn’t risk that kind of loss again. He knew he wouldn’t survive it again. But he was weak. He knew how selfish it was, but as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, convince himself that he wasn’t worthy of it, that he’d had his chance and then let it die; he wanted love. He wanted family and connections. He wanted to watch Yang and Ruby grow up. He wanted to be a part of their lives. He wanted to laugh with Tai. Hell, he even wanted to fight with Raven if that’s all they could do now. 

He wanted to be important to people. He wanted to be important to someone. 

He wanted someone to love him like that again. That love that could never fix you like all the grand, unrealistic stories, but that made you want to get better. That love that made it a little harder to hate yourself, because if someone as amazing as that could love you, there had to be something there worth loving, right? 

He wanted to be the key to someone’s color again. And he hated himself for how much he wanted that. He hated himself for being so selfish, again. So he pushed it down, ignored it like he ignored the reality of the extent of Summer’s absence. 

Sometimes he thought he could see the smallest hint of red when he looked at Ruby, or gold with Yang. Like they were remnants of Summer - echoes of her through her daughters - gifting him tiny glimpses of color again. Even Tai could have a glow to him. And Raven, though these days he wasn’t sure if that was true Sight or just a figment of his rage. The people in his life, the people whose places in his life were entangled with her’s, could seem to almost bring her back. Like if they were together enough - if they were connected enough - she would just show up at the front door, smiling, apologizing for having been gone so long. But he knew that wasn’t true, and trying to pretend it might be, trying to find his way back to her through their family, and always coming up short, just hurt more. He lived for those special moments with his family. But, as with everything happy, the sting of loss, of absence, of worry always caught up with him eventually. 

He told himself he accepted it. He accepted living the rest of his life with only those tiny moments. Those tiny moments that he knew he might have to give up at any second, in order to keep the people he loved safe. That was what mattered now. Keeping his family, Summer’s family, safe. His happiness was a small price to pay for their safety. His happiness wasn’t a priority. 

He told himself that over and over. Until he could trick himself that it was okay, that it didn’t eat away at him everyday. That he was fine with not having a happy ending. He was never meant to be truly, safely, happy, and he was okay with that, it didn’t bother him. That was the lie he drove into his head whenever his chest ached. Whenever he just wanted someone there to help him shoulder this huge responsibility. Whenever he woke up from nightmares and laid there, wishing that, for once, he could stop feeling so alone. Whenever he just wanted everything to simply feel empty, but that gods-damned grey surrounded him constantly. 

He’d adapted. He’d pretended to accept. He’d settled into the idea that the rest of his life would be for his family, for the world, for Summer. For everyone else but himself. 

But then - Atlas. The streets of Mantle. His chest hitting the ground and a pair of dark grey boots standing in front of him. Looking up in anger. Opening his mouth to protest. And suddenly his world was falling out from under him in an utterly new, terrifying way. A way he had never even thought to prepare for. 

Teal. Seafoam. The calmest green. He knew those colors. They weren’t the ones that his family had ever given him glimpses of before. But they came back to him so easily. He’d expected to never see them again, much less so vividly. But there it was. 

It was familiar. Or rather, so close to familiar. He knew that was teal. But it wasn’t the exact _teal_ that Summer had given him. It was… it was a different source, a different context. He knew if you held the two colors up beside one another, they’d both read as teal. But he’d immediately know which one was from Summer, and which was from.... 

And by the look in the other man’s teal, it wasn’t one sided. 

It was a nightmare Qrow hadn’t even realized he should fear. 

Everyone knew you could have multiple soulmates, especially when your first wasn’t necessarily your ‘born’ match. But the likelihood of ever actually meeting more than one?  
It was incredibly rare. 

Qrow wished it were even rarer. 

\--------

Clover froze. 

Crimson. Dark, enveloping, soothing, suffocating crimson. He’d never seen it before, but he knew instantly that _that_ was the color of blood, of roses, of the flush of _life_ in your cheeks. His heart leapt and he knelt down, hand reaching out to help the restrained man…. To his soulmate. 

He’d talk to the General, explain the situation. This… this changed things, right? He wouldn’t actually have to take his soulmate in cuffed, right?

“Sorry… about this… I...I’ll get it worked out as soon as we get back to the General….I…” 

He took a deep breath as he helped the man to his feet. As much as Clover wanted to remove the bolas from his wrists he knew he couldn’t, not yet. 

“Okay, sorry, I was very much in one head-space and it was not... This. I need to... regroup for a second… I… I’m Clover.” He didn't know how to introduce himself right then; to the most important person he'd ever meet, who was currently restrained at his own order, without feeling a little awkward. He tried to keep the excitement, the relief from his voice. He was on the job. He couldn’t let this get in the way of doing his job. Even if it was what he had waited for, had told himself he was fine without, for years. 

The other man didn’t speak. He didn’t look at him. Clover had gotten that one glimpse of crimson and now all he wanted was to see it more, to memorize every angle of it in the light. But those eyes had stayed screwed shut ever since that first look. For a moment Clover worried that it was one-sided. It happened sometimes, he was all too familiar with that fact. 

Clover knew that his good luck couldn’t protect him from all poor outcomes. But two? Giving him two unrequited soulmates? That was a stretch. It had to be. He’d never prayed for his luck more than in that split second of doubt. 

But no. The worry passed. He’d seen the shock in his eyes, the realization…. 

It hit Clover suddenly that it was just that. Shock. Not surprise or joy…. Shock… maybe even… fear? Heartbreak? He didn’t understand. 

The world was so vibrant now. There were so many colors. So much beyond the years of that melancholy silver. That silver that he’d somehow never been able to bring himself to fully resent.

But now there was more than that complicated shine. Now there was red. So striking and calming, warm, all around him. He understood why it was usually your soulmate's eye color that became your favorite, that made you feel something so powerfully that it was able to echo into the core of the person matched to you. He understood how important that silver was. A part of him always had. He'd felt that joy, that pain, that uncomfortably heady mix of both conflicting emotions, for too long to ever forget it's strength.

But now he had something beyond that. Now, he had red.

For the first time since he was a teenager, he saw so many colors, more than an unknowable shining silver. 

But for the first time in his life; he felt a striking, colorful, emotion building in his chest, that was purely his own.

It was breathtaking.

And now his new, truly matched, soulmate wouldn't even look at him.

That wasn’t how Clover had pictured it all those years ago, before he had stopped letting himself hope it might one day happen. 

He’d told himself for so many years that he was fine without a soulmate, that he was more than that. That he didn't want it so badly.

But to have it, once more, dangled in front of him and then make him face the possibility that something could still go wrong?

He almost felt silly at how quickly that put an aching pit of sadness in his chest.


	2. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Relative color: A color as it is seen, according to the perception of the eye and the way the brain interprets the information it receives._
> 
> \----------------
> 
> But on the rarest of rare occasions, someone would suddenly see one lone color, without having ever met their soulmate. 
> 
> The moment of excitement would be swept away by a realization; they could see their soulmate’s favorite color. Meaning their soulmate had gotten their Sight. 
> 
> And they hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So really this could just be prologue pt. 2 but idk it felt like a good place to start off, with lore and then a bit more of a look into Clover's past, before jumping into the two of them starting to figure things out next time.... 
> 
> Also, a note that isn't exactly relevant to this chapter, but something I realized while writing it and wanted to address...
> 
> Asexuality, as well as allosexual individuals having non-romantic soulmates, is definitely a thing in this universe, and the soulmates aspect completely applies to it. I wanted to work that into this fic more, but my main purpose with this fic focuses a little too much on romantic iterations (or alterous) of the connection, and I just simply didn’t have time to work things better to properly provide that representation how I would have liked. 
> 
> If you like this concept/lore, please feel free to write/create stories with it that involve ace characters, and send them to me because I’d love to see them, and be incredibly honored. 
> 
> As part of the ace community I know how important representation is and it really pained me, with all the other school work, and personal/fic writing I have on my plate right now, to not have the time to put some more of that here. Maybe I can work it in later, or once this series is over do a spin off but right now I just wasn’t able to take the time to do it justice and still do with this fic what I intended originally.

On Remnant, color was special. Color was energy, distinction, understanding. Color was powerful. 

On Remnant, color was often a direct thread to a person’s soul. Color was emotion, connection, expression. Color was meaningful. 

Legend said that thousands of years ago, after war and hubris became commonplace among the people of Remnant, they had begun to use the gift of color to divide each other; to become the basis of hatred and pain, rather than life and acceptance. The gods, angered by seeing their powerful gift being misused, decided to punish them. 

And so, the gods took all color from the people of Remnant. 

Not from Remnant itself; the color was still there, still powerful and vibrant - entangled in the very essence of life itself- even still in the lives of people. But the people, human and faunus alike, were no longer able to _see_ it. 

When they realized what they had lost, they pleaded with the gods to forgive them; to return their Full Sight to them. The gods asked why they so desperately wanted the color back - and why they should grant their wish - when they only used it to spread hate and division among themselves. The people continued to beg for their ability to see color once more, promising to no longer wield its power against each other. The gods saw their desperation, their apparent repentance, and decided to show mercy. 

But they could not simply give the people back their Sight, with no proof that they had in fact changed their ways. 

So, for the people of Remnant, the capability to see color; Full Sight, was no longer an innate ability. To assure that people remembered to use the power that came with the vibrancy of color for the good of their kind, rather than their division, it became that one would only acquire this Full Sight once they met someone whose soul matched the pure essence of their own. Someone who would, in theory, be able to spark, nurture, inspire within them the spiritual essence of color that the gods had intended. 

You would find color when you found your soulmate. 

Soulmates were not two halves of one; another person was not a part for you to find in order to complete yourself, and they were not necessarily a unique match, only right for one specific pairing. Soulmates were individuals who were whole themselves, completed on their own terms, but who would compliment each other, bring out the best in each other, and show one another the gentle nature of color, even amidst it’s alluring potential for power. 

Despite the common phrases of “giving” someone color, or a person “finding” it, it was never something you actually needed to acquire. The potential, the desire, the essence, of color had still always been there, within you. Rather, it was your soulmate who helped you find it within yourself, who gave you a new understanding of the world, of connection, that made it all click into place. 

Soulmates were not necessarily romantic. There were couples who loved each other deeply, fully, but never saw color until holding their child for the first time. 

There were students who saw color upon the first day of school, as they met the person who would become their closest friend, or their most motivating rival. 

There were hunters who found color in the midst of a battle, and came out the other side as part of a new, makeshift, team. 

A person could have multiple soulmates, or none. It was rare for someone to actually chance upon multiple matches within their lifetime, and it could be hard to know when it actually happened, unless you had gained Sight and lost it prior to meeting your second match. But it had happened enough throughout history that it was still a well known possibility. 

And because the ability of Sight was something within you yourself, and not given by someone else, there were the scarcer rumors of those who had unlocked their Sight on their own, without ever finding a match. 

Matches were not law, though. They were not stagnant. Matches could happen years after meeting someone. They could fade. They could break. They could shift. 

An individual’s perception of color, of vibrancy, was a truly unique experience that grew with you, and with your connection to your soulmate. 

It seemed that, even when it came to the mystical nature of soulmates, color was still relative. 

There were still aspects of Full Sight and soulmates that people did not yet fully understand. 

The exact ways and extent to which one lost Sight upon the death of their soulmate. 

How exactly the discovery of Sight could differ for one person over multiple matches. 

Why a match manifested, or faded, when it did. 

And sometimes, when there was a special element to two people’s connection (though no one could ever seem to agree on what that special element might be), they achieved a deeper level of their bond. Matches with this bond were not necessarily more powerful or important than those without, but they did seem to be more resilient; as no match with such a bond had ever been known to fade or break. 

In rare instances, once you found your Sight, your soulmate would see your favorite color (which often would end up being the color of their own eyes) crisper, brighter, more powerful than any other, and they could even be able to, to a degree, feel the emotions that said color evoked in within you. 

For most cases, this became a sweet, endearing aspect of soulmate’s lives together. 

Waking up in the morning and seeing the blue sky outside the window - that blue being more vibrant than any other color around you - and knowing that it was because the person laying beside you felt that color more poignantly than any other; because it was the color of your eyes. The color that had been what led them to all others. 

But on the rarest of rare occasions, someone would suddenly see one lone color, without having ever met their soulmate. 

The moment of excitement would be swept away by a realization; they could see their soulmate’s favorite color. Meaning their soulmate had gotten their Sight. 

And they hadn’t. 

Unrequited matches happened. And, even if it turned out to not truly be unrequited, they knew the likelihood of meeting multiple matches within your lifetime dropped significantly. 

For those rare few, they would see this lone color throughout their lives, or possibly, until they met another match who gave them Full Sight. But that first color would still be distinct, as long as it remained important to their original match. 

\---------------------

Clover Ebi never believed the old legend. Or at least, he never wanted to. Not as an adult. 

He’d dreamed of finding his soulmate growing up; of that connection to another person that felt so right in the very core of your being that you instantly felt more sure of who you were yourself. At least, that’s what he’d imagined it would be like. 

Now, as an adult, as a Huntsman, as a soldier, he didn’t know what he believed. 

But he knew that he had stopped acknowledging his dreams of finding his Sight years ago. He no longer accepted the idea that to be the ultimate version of yourself; to do the most good in the world, you needed to find your soulmate. He would be strong enough, good enough, on his own. Just him. He decided to dedicate his life to helping people, to trying to do the right thing. 

He would be worthy of Sight, all on his own. 

If he had to be perfect to do so, then he would be perfect. 

That was what he had decided when he was 17. 

The day he first saw color. One lone, stark, heart-stopping color. 

He hadn’t known what it was at first. A trick of the light, a glint off of metal that flashed strangely. But then he saw it more and more. 

It was so subtle, but as soon as he truly noticed it, it erupted out at him everywhere that he looked. 

A dazzling silver. 

A breathtaking gleam, that a heart in his chest - that he knew wasn’t really there, wasn’t his own - swelled at, always gravitated towards, cherished more than anything else. 

As that soul rang with every glimpse of silver, Clover’s own heart sank. 

His soulmate’s favorite color was silver. 

And though Clover Ebi may not have ever seen the color of his own eyes before, he knew that they were not silver. 

He tried to ignore it; the warmth, the awe, that that silver inspired in his unknown soulmate. He knew that some people had multiple soulmates. So maybe he still had a chance at finding someone else. 

He held to that hope. To the hope that his luck would make him one of the rare few to get a second chance. 

But he didn’t focus on it. He longed for it quietly, even to himself. And eventually, by the time he graduated from the academy at 21, it was just a muffled yearning at the back of his mind. 

He would be enough, all on his own. 

A few years after he graduated and joined the Atlas military, Clover had woken up in the middle of the night, panting. His chest was aching horrifically, and for some reason he didn’t understand; he was crying, sobbing, quietly. 

At first he thought something was wrong with him. It felt like his heart would break open, like no amount of deep breaths in the world would quell the numbing emptiness in his lungs. The scrape of a ghosting scream tugging at the back of his throat.

It took a moment, the shock passing, for him to realize that the feelings he was caught up in, were not actually his own. There was that layer of distance, of delay; like he was reading a message through warped glass. 

This was not Clover’s pain, but his soulmate’s.

He worried at first that they were hurt, or worse. But he still saw the silver around him; their pain and devotion still carried through to him. 

And from then on, Clover felt the nearly constant twinge of grief that the shimmer of silver ignited in his nameless counterpart. 

He didn’t know what that meant. He tried not to think about what it meant. 

Because when he did, a place down deep in him; a place that he tried his best to ignore, to be better than, jumped at the possibility that there was, just maybe, still a chance for him. 

He pushed the bittersweet taste of silver down, always amazed at how, after all those years, he’d never been able to bring himself to resent the color. It should have represented nothing but disappointment for him. 

But he’d felt too much of what that silver stirred within his soulmate; both the joy and the pain, to hate it. And he knew that what he felt was only a sliver of the real thing, of what the person whose soul matched his own lived with every day. 

Clover was too good, too kind, a man to hate the sparkle in the corner of his eye just because it brought him sadness; because it had brought his soulmate _so much_ joy. His heart broke every time he felt the bite of loss at the color, rather than that weightless happiness that he had flinched from for years. It broke at knowing, despite having long accepted he would never meet them, that his soulmate lived with so much pain; pain brought on by what had once been the source of so much joy. 

Over the next fourteen years, he had grown used to the prickling sadness of silver, and had begun to settle with the fact he might never find another match. 

He worked his way through the ranks until finally becoming the leader of the Ace Ops. 

He was Atlas’ golden boy. 

He was good enough, all on his own. He’d had to be. 

So, when a flash of rust looked up at him from the streets of Mantle, and the world exploded into so much _more_ than that solitary silver, you’d have thought he would have hesitated. That the nearly two decades of pushing it down would have led him to balk at this long abandoned dream blindsiding him like that. 

But he didn’t. The moment he saw, understood, that world changing red, all those years of secret, ignored, longing crashed into him at once and he could barely contain himself. 

The bite of the silver was still there as always. He still felt the harsh twinge of pain from his long lost soulmate at its presence. But that loneliness, that solitude of secondhand color, was behind him now. He had gotten a second chance. 

A second chance that refused to even look at him. 

Amidst his own sorrow Clover failed to notice that the fresh twist of pain, sadness, fear, that radiated through his chest, was not entirely his own. 

That somewhere, wherever the source of that silver was, they were also hurting in an utterly new way. 

Clover had no way of knowing, in meeting Qrow, just how many odds he had beaten. 

Everyone knew you could have multiple soulmates. But the likelihood of getting a second chance after an unrequited match? 

It was incredibly rare.

The likelihood of that second chance being the same person?

Unheard of. 

You’d have to be the luckiest man alive.


	3. Proper Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James was definitely interested in what was going on. 
> 
> “What’s got you so shaken, Clover?” He asked, his authoritative tone dropped to something much more familiar, kinder. 
> 
> “What would make you thin-…” Clover started reflexively, before cutting himself off. 
> 
> He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Sir… While bringing the group in… I met a man with them. He said he was a licensed huntsman, though I didn’t quite catch his name. But… Sir… you see…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter, more straight forward chapter to get the plot rolling. Almost skipped this scene entirely but decided I wanted to try to work James in more later. So it might not be in line with the feel of the first two chapters, but we'll get back to all that next time. :)

The preparation for the trip back to Atlas was a quiet, strained thing. Clover resisted the almost debilitating urge to climb into the back of the transport with the arrested group. 

But it would have been completely out of line, and he wasn’t sure how sticky things might get with this whole situation before things were straightened out. If he was going to try to help them, he couldn’t let his own feelings jeopardize things by breaking the rules, and risk ending up getting them in even more trouble. 

The red-eyed man still refused to look at him, and quickly, but gently shied away from any help getting into the back of the truck after the group of teens. As soon as he was seated, he hunched over - still bound hands raised to push the heels of his palms against his eyes - as he hung his head. 

The defeated, nearly mournful action struck Clover hard, and his voice was shakier than he had hoped as he spoke.

“I… I’ll try to talk to the General. Get this worked out.”

There was no response and Clover felt eight pairs of young eyes flicker between him and their... guardian? ...and then narrow as they saw that the man’s dour mood was in response to Clover’s presence. Though they couldn’t know why, of course. They couldn’t know  _ what _ to blame him for at that moment, but Clover knew that to them, he was a threat to one of their own. That knowledge laced a new twinge of guilt through the confused, lonely, knot of pain in his chest.

Clover sighed and closed the doors softly, checking that all was set with the transport before rushing back to the Ace Ops’ own shuttle, urgently needing to get to Ironwood before the prisoner transport arrived. 

\------------------

“Uncle Qrow? What’s wrong? Did you… did you know him?” Ruby asked tentatively, as she scooted closer to her uncle. 

Qrow took a deep breath and lowered his hands, one moving to pat gently at Ruby’s knee. 

Ruby could see how much focus he put into keeping it from trembling. 

“I’m fine, pipsqueak.” He said, a forced snark in his voice. “Just… Just got caught off guard, is all. He uh… He’s someone I was not expecting to ever meet… again.” 

The last word was an afterthought, tacked on as if to confirm her earlier question. 

\--------------------------

Clover forced himself to calmly knock on the General’s door. He hadn’t quite managed not to run there from the hangar but… He paused, a deep breath soothing the racing of his heart.

A familiar voice called him in and he opened the door, then quietly closing it behind him. He saw Winter standing by their boss, obviously having just been discussing something. Penny stood slightly behind her, her smile seeming even brighter and more eagerly excited than usual.

The Ace Operative leader took a breath and cleared his throat before approaching and asking respectfully, 

“I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but… Would I be able to speak to you, alone, for a moment? It… It’s a matter of a… rather personal nature, sir.” 

James Ironwood’s brow furrowed as he glanced subtly to Winter. 

“I thought you were bringing back a group in custody from Mantle, captain.” the older man offered calmly. 

“Yes, sir… It… It has to do with something that happened while confronting them… With one of the members of the group.” 

Ironwood was interested now, more than a strong suspicion at just who was on their way to greet him, and curious as to what had his usually collected officer so subtly - but thoroughly - rattled. 

He nodded and Winter left quietly, Penny trailing behind her. Clover thought he caught her whisper something to the older woman; a name - Ruby, and then Winter’s quiet acknowledgment, which might have been a bit anxious itself.

Both men were silent for a moment after the door closed again before Ironwood finally spoke. He noticed how wide Clover’s eyes seemed to be, and how they couldn’t help but flit around the room quickly, not as if anxious or on edge. But like he was just looking at everything, taking it all in. As if he was seeing something absolutely new all around him. 

James was definitely interested in what was going on. 

“What’s got you so shaken, Clover?” He asked, his authoritative tone dropped to something much more familiar, kinder. 

“What would make you thin-…” Clover started reflexively, before cutting himself off. 

He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Sir… While bringing the group in… I met a man with them. He said he was a licensed huntsman, though I didn’t quite catch his name. But… Sir… you see…” 

“Clover.” James’ voice was still patient, reassuring. “What happened?”

“Sir… I” Clover softened, a less formal tone crawling into his voice and he looked away from his superior. 

“I met his eyes… and they were such a soft, deep,  _ red. _ ” The word left his tongue with a warm weight like it was alive just in those three soft letters.

Finally, he looked back up and met the eyes not of his boss, but a trusted friend. Eyes that he now knew were a deep, stark, blue. 

“James. There... there’s so much more than silver, now…” His voice barely hiding a crack. 

The general folded his hands in front of his mouth, eyebrows raised while he paused to think. 

Clover barely caught him mutter, a resigned humor to his voice. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” His eyes flicked back to Clover before he leaned back in his chair, a hand dragging down his face as he sighed. 

“Of course. Of course! How had that not occurred to me before…” He mumbled, blinking heavily. 

“Sir? What’s going on? What don’t I know here?” Clover asked, completely surprised by his boss’s reaction. 

“Don’t worry, captain. You… You’ll find out soon. And as far as what you don’t know… I can only tell you so much… The rest. Well, the rest you’ll have to ask him.” 

Suddenly, just as Clover was about to respond, the doors burst open behind them, startling the poor man momentarily. 

Winter was leading Penny and the group of kids - all of whom were now free from their bolas - into the office. But at the head… was him. His face was hard set and he was already talking forcefully as he entered. 

“Jimmy! We need to tal-” His voice was brash and gravelly, sending a shiver down Clover’s spine with its tenacity as he addressed the general so informally. 

But the man stopped short, eyes growing wide as he noticed Clover, before quickly looking away again. Clover noticed his hands clench, so tight he was sure that his nails must be digging into his palms. 

“Hello, Qrow.” His voice was almost amused like a suspicion had just been confirmed. 

“Yes, I believe we do.” Ironwood stood and walked around his desk, calmly approaching the group. As he passed Clover, he gave him a kind look that seemed to say ‘just hold on a moment’.

“But first off, I have to say, I’m glad to see you.” He greeted Clover’s soulmate with a puzzling familiarity, and the captain couldn’t quite determine whether or not it felt genuine. 

“And I’m relieved that you all made it here safely. My apologies for my team, they were only following my protocol. And I wasn’t quite expecting you to arrive like… like that.” Ironwood continued, turning to address the group, a subtle but kind disapproving tone to his voice.

Clover was about to slip away as the group started to bring Ironwood up to date on their journey. But the general caught his eye and held up a hand quietly. 

“Captain, I believe it may end up being a good idea for you to be aware of these details as well. Please, stay.” He stated plainly, motioning for Clover to step over towards Winter and Penny. 

Clover backed up, fading into the background as the children and the man, Qrow, explained all they had encountered since the fall of Beacon. 

He had known that there was a lot he didn’t know about the situation, but by the time all was said and done, and with his remaining disorientation from all the color surrounding him, he was struggling to really keep up. 

Ironwood then began to explain the Amity Tower project to the group, and that at least was something Clover felt much more informed on. 

Finally, Penny led the two teams to their dorms and Clover’s heart clenched as he saw Qrow turn to leave as well, never even so much as glancing his way. 

But Ironwood stopped him. 

“Qrow. Just a moment, please.” 

The lanky man froze, turning around slowly, obviously forcing himself to look only at the man who had spoken. 

“I’d like to talk more later. It’s… I meant what I said before. I’m glad to see you… an old friend. It’s been a while since I have .” 

A smug smirk pulled at Qrow’s lips as Ironwood said ‘friend’. 

“I guess so, Jimmy.” 

Clover was surprised at how soft, familiar, the General’s voice was, and how casually Qrow spoke to him; and for a moment he worried, what with Qrow refusing to look at him, that maybe he’d actually faded away, his presence completely forgotten in the onslaught of information over the last half hour. 

But then Ironwood gestured for him to step forward. 

“But we can catch up later. For now, I think some proper introductions are in order.” 

Clover couldn’t help but still feel sheepish, even as he held himself upright and acted as if this were any other formal introduction. 

Qrow’s eyes narrowed and Clover saw the tension winding through him once more. 

“Qrow, this is Captain Clover Ebi, leader of my elite squad of Ace Operatives, all of whom you’ve already met, of course.” There was a hint of a smirk to his tone before he turned to address Clover. 

“Captain, this is Huntsman Qrow Branwen, a former instructor at Signal Academy, and long-trusted member of Professor Ozpin’s inner circle.” 

Neither man looked at the other. 

“I’ve been awaiting your group’s arrival, Qrow. And now that you’re here; until the Amity Tower project is completed,”

Ironwood glanced between them and took a moment, steeling himself for whatever reaction his next statement might bring. 

“I am officially assigning the two of you as partners.” 


	4. Partners and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two partners, soulmates, strangers, stood dumbfounded, their eyes locked on Ironwood, doing everything they could to not look at each other. 
> 
> They had both seen so much more than they had expected to that day. 
> 
> But neither had seen that coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight tw for indirect mention of alcoholism. 
> 
> This chapter will probably get at least a little bit of editing later, since it ended up going a very different way than what I'd planned. But I wanted to get something done for day three of Clovember since it was Color.

“I am officially assigning the two of you as partners.” 

Red and green irises shot up to stare at the man before them in shock. 

Clover struggled to take a deep, slow breath, his mind caught somewhere between frustration and excitement as he waited for James to explain further. 

Qrow seemed to be wound so tight that the slightest extra pressure would surely be enough to make him snap. He glared at the general, his thoughts buzzing with bitterness at his fond reception of the term ‘friend’ just moments before. 

The two partners, soulmates, strangers, stood dumbfounded, their eyes locked on Ironwood, doing everything they could to not look at each other. 

They had both seen so much more than they had expected to that day. 

But neither had seen  _ that _ coming. 

Clover caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye, that was quickly stopped, as Qrow’s hand reached up to slip something from the inside pocket of his shirt. His fingers froze right as they grazed under the fabric and he flexed them reluctantly before dropping his hand again. Clover could feel him growing tenser with every second, always just about to break but never doing so. He also noticed the flash of concern on Ironwood’s face, as the general caught the action as well. 

Qrow ground his teeth as he screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath through his nose to keep himself from full-on yelling as he spoke. The words came out strained and gritted, his hand dropping from his chest and resting on Harbinger’s hilt, thumb flicking at the grain of the leather wrap in irritation. 

“I’m not one of your  _ soldiers _ , Jimmy! You can’t ‘officially assign’ me to shit.” 

Clover was taken aback as Qrow nearly growled. His friendly, if somewhat snarky and annoyed, tone was completely gone. 

“No, but you are a licensed huntsman working with a foreign military. And while you are I  _ can _ appoint the captain here as your military consultant in the field.” A note of strict order had snuck back into his voice, annoyance at Qrow once again rebuking his authority in front of his people.

Qrow’s nails dug into the grip of his weapon tightly and for a split second the thought that he might be about to draw it flashed through Clover’s mind, his muscles tensing reflexively. But Ironwood didn’t move to react, and Qrow’s hand quickly dropped, clenching at his side once more. 

“I work alone, James. You know that. I don’t need a-” His voice stuck in his throat for a moment and Clover caught that striking rust flicker towards him for just a second before returning to Ironwood. 

Clover was beginning to get angry himself. Obviously, there was something going on here he wasn’t aware of, but he couldn’t help but feel like the man beside him, his soulmate, had decided to hate him from the very moment their eyes met. And as much as he might try to reason his way out of it, to be patient and understanding, that coldness stung. He couldn’t quite silence that little hurt in his chest crying out that he’d finally found what he’d long since given up on ever finding, and he wasn’t even being given a chance.

“I’m just fine on my own. I don’t need a  _ partner _ .” 

Clover would have expected that last word to have been spit out, like flicking a burr from your shoe. And he could tell that that was what Qrow had been going for, but there was a twinge of sadness to it, of vulnerability, like by just saying the word he was exposing some long guarded weakness. 

That hurt and resulting defensive anger was still thick in his chest, but the way that that single, simple, powerful word fell from Qrow’s lips, like a heavy, relinquished dream, churned in Clover’s stomach. 

He hadn’t realized he’d turned to look at Qrow, had shifted towards him instinctively, until Ironwood spoke up, surprising Clover with the strange mixture of stern insistence, and genuine care in his voice. 

“And how has that been working out for you lately, Qrow?” 

Qrow looked like he was about to lash out, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide with surprise for just a moment before pulling tight into a harsh glare. 

Ironwood softened the slightest, turning to Clover, a tired, but reassuring glint in his eyes. 

“Clover, could you give us just a minute? I’ll call you back in to go over the plan for tomorrow.”

Clover nodded and slipped into the hall, leaning back against the wall as the door shut behind him. 

Qrow’s words were ringing in his head.

Qrow said ‘partner’, said ‘on his own’ like Clover had felt it all those years. An embittered wish that you spent so much time telling yourself you didn’t really want. Didn’t  _ need _ . 

Clover shrunk slightly as he recognized the feeling. The thing that was biting away at his anger, the conflict that pushed at his own insecurity. Qrow’s anger, his reluctance to even acknowledge the life-changing presence of new kinds of light that they each had found by seeing the other’s eyes, it was so much like that familiar silver that Clover had grown up with. Something was standing between him and everything he’d spent so many years trying to stop longing for. And that hurt in his gut wanted to resent that, wanted to scream at the universe for dangling happiness in front of him, just out of reach. But the very thing that kept him from it, the silver, Qrow’s rejection, had something precious, something fragile at their core. 

Vulnerability. 

That silver was the remnant of something precious, the proof of something to keep pushing for, the glint of hope to lead you home. 

And the sound of Qrow’s voice as he said ‘partner’. Clover didn’t know how or why, but it was that same thing, just dulled, tattered. It was a hope that had turned to cruel mockery. 

Qrow’s anger was something that Clover should have resented, something that curled in his gut like a cold, stinging wound. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to. 

As he heard this man who’d barely said two words to him, this man who’d shown him all that lay beyond silver, seemingly reject even the simplest of connections between them, Clover felt hurt. 

But he also felt sure. 

The very way that Qrow Branwen said ‘partner’, like it was an old treasure that he had held close to his chest, that had turned to a searing heat in his hands, resolved something in Clover’s mind. 

No matter how long it took, no matter what they ended up being to each other, ‘partner’ was going to be something that he would return to Qrow. 

Not the bruised, fragile word that had just been said. 

But a safe, solid, support.

Qrow might not have felt ready to have, to be a partner yet. 

But Clover was.

\-------------

James frowned as he saw Qrow start to relax slightly once Clover had left the room. Slightly. But he was still a knot of tension, of frustration and guarded uncertainty. 

The general stepped forward carefully, watching Qrow’s reaction. 

The shorter man stiffened again, glaring at him, his mouth pursed, as if he were biting back everything that wanted to pour from him. 

“What the fuck, Jimmy.” He finally growled though this was softer, like he was propping up some act that was so very close to toppling. He stuffed his hands into his pockets quickly, after he ignored the twitching urge to reach for his flask again. 

“Qrow.” It was a sigh, and for the first time Qrow saw Ironwood’s shoulders fall, almost imperceptibly, and he noticed just how tense the general was himself. 

And then the Atlesian was pulling him into a hug, his chin resting gently on Qrow’s shoulder. Qrow tensed again, almost painfully aware of just how tightly wound he really was. He balked at the embrace for a moment, the softness of the action something almost out of place for his old ally. 

But he loosened slowly as he felt warm breath on his shoulder, and coarse beard grazing his cheek, as James spoke. 

“Qrow. I’m asking you. As a friend. Give this a chance.” 

Qrow’s hand flexed slowly, still tentative to return the embrace. 

“It’s… James, you don’t understand.” It came out weaker than he’d hoped, almost a whisper. 

He jumped slightly as James laughed, pulling back and resting a hand on his shoulder so that their eyes met. Qrow noticed how blue his eyes were, and how heavy the bags under them were. His hand fell to his friend’s arm finally. 

Ironwood caught the recognition in Qrow’s falsely grey eyes, and the faintest smile pulled at his lips. 

“You’re right. I don’t. Not fully. But, Qrow. Please. Just give it a chance. Let someone, who isn’t one of those kids, help you.” 

Qrow held his gaze, and his stomach twisted as he had the sudden thought that, somehow, he knew. James knew that he was talking about something more than just giving Qrow a partner in the field. 

Finally, he draped his arms around the larger man, sighing as he felt him sink back into the hug. Qrow noticed how tense James was, even more than himself. How knotted and stiff his shoulders felt. How he seemed to fall back to Qrow’s shoulder, like the moment he was given something to lean on his body realized just how hard it was to hold himself up. 

Qrow remembered what James had said before. About how long it had been since he’d seen an old friend. Instinctively his hand went to the back of James’ neck, patting lightly, comfortingly. He knew the man well. He knew how hard he pushed himself, how much he expected of himself, how hard he tried to do the right thing. How hard it was to know what exactly was the right thing. 

He sighed as he let himself settle into the hug fully, hand cupping the back of his friend’s neck reassuringly. How long had it been since either of them had had this chance? Since Qrow had felt an embrace from someone he didn’t feel responsible for, someone he didn’t feel guilty for wanting comfort from? Since James had had a chance to be anything less than steadfast, solid leader? 

“When will you learn to take your own advice, General?” Qrow quipped lightly, rolling his eyes at the resigned laugh that drew from the other. 

Ironwood pulled away, coughing as he needlessly straightened his uniform, and smiling gently at Qrow before slipping back into his role. 

“I have a feeling we’re all going to have a lot of learning to do in the coming days.” 

Qrow sighed, unable to keep from bristling slightly at the other man’s switch back to formality. But he knew it wouldn’t have been that easy. Just like ‘giving it a chance’ wasn’t going to be for him. 

There was a thick silence for a moment, both men wondering just how much of their guard to pull back up. 

It was finally too much for Qrow and he huffed a last sigh, turning to leave, his hand lifting in a vague wave. 

“I should go make sure the kids aren’t getting into too much trouble. And then find a good place to get a damn nap. It’s… it’s been a long day.” 

There was a rustle of fabric and quick tapping before Qrow felt his scroll chime in his pocket. He looked back up at James. 

“There’s your room number and key code.” He paused, a brow lifting as he continued. “You’re a bit further from the kids. I thought it might be good to keep you close to the Ace Ops’ wing.” 

Qrow bit his cheek in surprise, bristling instantly. But he stopped as he met blue eyes again. He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. He was too tired to argue anymore. 

“Fine. I… I’ll try, Jimmy. But.” His fingers trailed down to the cold cross at his chest. James pretended he didn’t notice the way Qrow’s face softened, almost fell, as his thumb brushed reverently over the metal. 

Qrow dropped his hand and looked back up, his eyes hardened again. 

“I just need some time.” His voice was firm, but they could both hear the plea in it. 

Ironwood nodded, turning back to his desk as Qrow walked to the door. 

Qrow paused, his hand hovering over the handle, as he remembered that Clover was still waiting outside. Ironwood spoke after he watched him for a moment. 

“Qrow. If it means anything; Clover, he’s not one to take this lightly. He….” James paused, knowing there were still things that weren’t his to explain. “He hides it well, but he needs this too. It’s important to him, as much as he might wish it weren’t.” 

A twinge of guilt shot through Qrow’s chest, at the memory of Clover’s face that first moment, the eager surprise that washed over his features with each new color Qrow saw. 

His shoulders dropped as he rested his fingers on the handle. 

“Yeah, Jimmy. That’s what worries me.” 

And he screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, before opening the door. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Our Relative Colors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272693) by [Afoolforatook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afoolforatook/pseuds/Afoolforatook)




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